Michael wasn't the one for mail duty, but he always went through whatever came through after it sat on the counter for long enough. That wasn't the case for today. He had been hand delivered a letter while he was in his room. Huh.

His curiosity fell with his heart as he just looked at the envelope in his hand. He didn't need to read the front to know who it was from.

Thatcher Townsend. His father. The abusive one. The one who traded him to stay innocent.

He was fine, he was completely fine. Michael just needed some air since the air in his room seemed to close in on itself. Except that feeling followed as he hauled himself out of his room and anywhere else.